Page 58 of Wanted You More

When I see him looking down at me, I notice those crystal blues dropping to my lips. Involuntarily, my fingertips dig into his waist as I let out a shaky breath.

There’s temptation lingering between us.

Dangerous.

Because we’re friends.

Because of Bailey.

No matter what I want to believe, Iama risk to Noah’s reputation.

Digging a little harder into his sides, I let out a tiny breath and step back before one of us can close the distance.

His tongue dips out and drags across his bottom lip, then he clears his throat. “Do you want to stay for breakfast?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Dad stops meas I’m grabbing my keys with another nervous expression on his face. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

I lift my phone to check the time. “Sure, but orientation starts in two hours, and I need to get there early. I heard if you don’t get in line for your ID pictures, they rush through people and you’re stuck with a hideous picture you have to show everybody for four years.”

My father manages to chuckle, tugging at his shirt collar. “Do you remember how we talked about you growing up the other day? And how I’d have to let go of some of the anxiety that comes with it?”

Brows pinching, I slowly nod. “Yes…”

He grabs a piece of paper that’s hanging from the refrigerator. “I know I’ve asked you to refrain from speaking with reporters and organizations over the years, but you’re an adult now. So, while I want you to be vigilant, what and who you choose to talk to is up to you. There’s a group of people who are organizing a marathon to raise funds for the ten-year anniversary of the park shooting. A few family members who were impacted are part of it, and they’ve been reaching out to other victims to see if they’d like to participate.”

A marathon?

Swallowing, I feel my throat tighten with a range of emotions. From anger to sadness. “Why would they do that? It’s basically like they’re celebrating ten years from something fucking horrible.”

“Austen,” Dad scolds. “Language.”

Is he kidding me? “Dad, come on! You have never wanted to be part of anything like this. You’ve refused to talk about the shooting for the past decade. You turned away reporters, journalists, and counselors. We couldn’t say a word to anyone about Mom without you turning red and clamming up.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I know. None of that was healthy, but I wanted to protect you. You and Wolfe are young, but especially when everything was still fresh. The last thing I wanted either of you to deal with is people putting microphones and cameras in front of your faces to make you relive it. But the fact of the matter is, you are eighteen now. You are legally able to make your own decisions. And when Britta, one of the organizers, called, I was inclined to agree that this was a good thing. A good way torememberpeople like your mother, not celebrate how she passed.”

His eyes are beginning to become glassy as he slides the paper with a phone number and name scrawled across it. When I remain silent, all he says is, “Just think about it. You never know what someone’s words can mean to somebody else, especially those who understand.”

Doesn’t he understand I get that? How many times have I been impacted by others’ words and opinions over the years? Because of that night, I’ve been made out to be a complete train wreck to the public—including those who suddenly want me to be part of some ridiculous run. What kind of bullshit is this? Another reason to use me? To somehow cure me?

Pass.

I shake my head, refusing to take the paper from him. “I don’t care. They’ve done just fine without the Cole’s participating in their activities all these years. Just like they did July Fourth, they’ll survive this.”

Spinning on my heels, I grip my keys and slide my bag over my shoulder to leave.

“Austen—” Dad tries to stop me.

But I don’t stop to listen to reason.

I go to orientation, force the biggest smile on my face for my student ID, and map out every escape route in each building we’re shown, just in case.

As much as I want the past to be in the past, you can never be too sure.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

My dorm roomis smaller than my bedroom at home, with twice as much furniture. Everything is symmetrical—the bed, dressers, closets, and desks they provide. I let Wolfe help me pick out my new bedding set to cover the twin mattress and a rug that goes with the comforter and fluffy pillows.

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